Helen Kelley | loose threads

    Life on
    an Ocean
    Wave

My morning routine is a ritual, a ceremony–rather like breaking a bottle of champagne across the bow of a ship when it is christened. It is how I launch myself into each day's new adventure.

I stand in the kitchen feeling the warmth of a mug of coffee in my hand and breathe in the tantalizing smell. When I'm refreshed and alert, I am ready to firm up my plans for a new quilt. The vision of this quilt may be one that I have carried around in my head for months, but now is the time to make it a reality. Setting off on a new challenge is an exciting experience, but with each beginning there are some hard decisions to be made.

I start by making a rough sketch on a tablet of paper. From there I go on to drafting the blocks. Once I have figured out the geometrics of my pieced stars or Flying Geese, I move on to sketching the shapes for my leafy applique trees that will cover the calico hills or the flowers to make a sumptuous bouquet. When these units are drawn, I make duplicates on my copy machine and cut them out to play with. That part's not so hard.

Helen Kelley is a quiltmaker, lecturer, author, and teacher from Minneapolis, Minnesota. You can visit Helen on the Internet at her website www.helenkelley- patchworks.com or email Helen at this address: helen@helenkelley- patchworks.com.

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I need to divide the space into areas for patchwork blocks and applique fields, but I am becalmed and adrift. The thought of "where" and "how" to begin is overwhelming. The idea of making that first pencil stroke on that flawless paper takes the wind out of my sails.

For me, the solution is to close my eyes, hold my breath, and strike out blindly with my pencil to make the first firm, black mark somewhere–anywhere–on that blank paper. Having taken away the perfection of that great, white space makes it feel comfortable. Now I can begin. I can play with those cutouts, moving them around on the paper until the design pleases me. All those ideas that were floating around in my head can be fixed firmly in place on the paper.

When I am ready to begin cutting and sewing, I face another difficult moment: cutting into my length of expensive fabric. I am acutely aware of the days and the miles invested in the hunt for this exactly right yardage. It is beautiful; it is immaculate; it is costly; and it is irreplaceable because it was the last of its kind on the bolt. The solution, I have discovered, is to make a first, nonthreatening cut by neatly removing the selvedge of the material, a cut of little consequence. Having made that first slice, I am freed. The fabric is no longer untouchable. It has become friendly.

I do not think of myself as a timid person, but beginning anything new takes a certain amount of grace and a certain amount of grit. Anything that one cares deeply about doing is usually scary. Once I have worked out my dream and drawn the shapes on paper and begun cutting into my lovely fabric, I am prepared. My course is charted, and I am ready to cruise.

I listen to good music as I cut my fabric pieces and play with the shapes and colors. Making this quilt becomes fun, just as it should be. My confidence is renewed, and I feel clever and capable. It took courage to begin, but now that I have gotten my sea legs, I foresee smooth sailing. My moment of quiet reflection over a mug of coffee at the beginning of the day started the day's journey. It firmed my resolution and focused me. It launched me and I sailed out onto a pleasant sea.

©HK 2006